


much more love than you've shown

by annataylor



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annataylor/pseuds/annataylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jim constantly feels greedy, feels ungrateful in the way he covets these small moments and always, secretly, pathetically yearns for more." Jim wishes Spock would be more outwardly affectionate, and he hates himself for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	much more love than you've shown

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mumford & Son's "Thistle and Weeds." _I know you have felt much more love than you've shown._

People not in the know are always a bit stunned when they first learn that James T. Kirk—the brash, lively Starfleet Captain who once saved Earth—is _with_ Commander Spock—the reserved, straight-laced Vulcan with no apparent personality. They comment on the matter in stage whispers, as if that makes their words less judgmental and blunt:

“But, he’s so cold.” 

“Everyone knows a Vulcan doesn’t have any sense of humor.”

“How could someone so logical ever be a satisfying lover?”

“How can you stand to be with someone who's detached and unfeeling?”

“I’ve never seen him show any kind of affection.”

Jim hardly ever lets these comments bother him, because they don’t really _know_ Spock, after all. Not the way the crew of the _Enterprise_ does. Especially not the way _he_ does.

No one but Jim has seen the way Spock’s eyes practically simmer with warmth as he undresses Jim swiftly and efficiently—cool hands leaving burning impressions as they travel down to his hips, as they brush softly against his lips, as they grab onto his ass and pull him that much closer. The Vulcan's skin might be cool to the touch, but his mere presence, just the knowledge that they’re breathing the same air, always leaves Jim with a feeling of heat deep in his gut. 

These disapproving gossips have never attended a mission briefing on the _Enterprise_ , have never witnessed Spock’s sharp tongue and fast wit in response to a pointed insult from Bones, a gentle teasing from Uhura, or a blatant insinuation from Jim. He will always maintain that Spock’s the most entertaining officer in all of Star Fleet; his humor’s subtle, sure, but once discovered, it’s all the more likely to leave Jim with a wide grin or a fit of laughter. 

And as for that myth about Vulcans making poor lovers? Well, the sounds wrenched out of Jim at night are definitive proof that some rumors are just that. Spock is undoubtedly the _most_ satisfying lover Jim’s ever had. Telepathy and eidetic memory make it easy for Spock to know all the different ways to bring Jim just to the edge, to pull him apart completely—a gentle bite in that dip between neck and shoulder, a teasing lick along the shell of his ear, a soft brush of his finger against that spot deep inside him. 

And they certainly haven’t seen Spock come apart himself: that moment when he first pushes inside Jim, his pupils blown wide, his breaths heavy and fast; those times when his thoughts linger on his mother, his fists clenched in remembrance of punches thrown, of a hand outstretched; or when he watches Jim throw himself in harm’s way head first, his brow furrowed, his jaw set in the knowledge that he might have to lose control to save his Captain’s life yet again.

And none but Jim are aware of just how _deeply_ Spock feels. None have entered Spock’s mind like Jim and witnessed those overwhelming, all-encompassing, irrepressible emotions in their most elemental, pure state. Spock feels enough to leave Jim breathless, to make Jim contemplate what kind of strength he must have to keep them all under control. 

Jim recognizes all this; Jim realizes that no one will ever know Spock as intimately as he does—and he wouldn’t want them to—but that last accusation somehow manages to get under Jim’s skin and linger there. It’s a perpetual itch that he’s too afraid to scratch, too afraid of infecting the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

It’s like this: Spock _is_ affectionate. Jim knows it. He’s not demonstrative in the presence of others, he’s not obvious, but he shows Jim he cares in everyday actions, in little nuances. Like the fact that Spock knows Jim’s least favorite aspect of his Captaincy is the paperwork and will read through tedious reports himself, flagging anything urgent or significant that Jim needs to see. Or how he understands that Bones is the only friend Jim’s ever had and that sometimes the two men just need to get drunk together. He’ll leave Jim in Bones’ care and won’t fuss when Jim crawls back into bed at some ungodly hour, throws himself into Spock’s personal space, and then leaves a pool of drool on his bare chest. Spock expresses his affection when he tangles his fingers messily in Jim’s, applying just the right amount of pressure; when he almost smiles the moment Jim enters a room, the corner of his lips just barely lifting; when he comes to stand beside Jim on the bridge, close enough that their arms just touch.

Jim constantly feels greedy, feels ungrateful in the way he covets these small moments and always, secretly, pathetically yearns for _more_. So he hides it, buries it deep enough that Spock won’t see, that maybe someday Jim will forget about it himself. Most days Jim conceals it well, but sometimes, like the days when those ignorant assholes tell him that they never would have guessed, sometimes that shameful discontent bubbles back to the surface.

\---

“So, are Vulcans against PDA as a rule, or is that just the most generally accepted stance on the issue?” 

Eventually the question just falls out of Jim’s mouth. He’s moving a white knight up a level on the three-dimensional chessboard that’s perpetually set up in Spock’s quarters, and until the words formed on his tongue, he had no idea that tonight would be the night for this conversation. Jim tries to keep his tone light and casual, but he knows he’s failed when a tiny crease appears between Spock’s eyebrows.

“On the contrary,” Spock says, looking up from his contemplation of the board between them. If he’s surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it; he just looks at Jim with that frank, seemingly innocent expression of his. “On Vulcan, bondmates and those with a betrothal bond would frequently use the Ozh’esta in public as a demonstration of their relationship.”

Jim’s been teaching himself Vulcan lately—it’s basically imperative when it’s the language your lover whispers in your ear as he fucks you—and this word he recognizes. _Ozh’esta_ : a finger-kiss in which both partners brush their index and middle fingers together meaningfully. Jim and Spock have done this before, but never in public, never anywhere but the seclusion of one of their quarters. 

“Oh.” 

Jim’s surprised by Spock’s admission and a little disappointed too—apparently Vulcans _can_ be outwardly affection, but _his_ Vulcan chooses not to be. 

“Is there something bothering you, Jim?” Spock asks immediately, perceptive as ever. Sometimes Jim doesn’t appreciate how easily he and Spock can read one another. Mostly when he’s trying to avoid heart-to-hearts such as this one.

“Why don’t you ever touch me in public?” Jim eventually blurts out when he can’t stand Spock’s calm curiosity any longer. The words have been swelling inside of him for so long, after all, and they were bound to overflow sooner or later—better here, better now, and not when they’re discussing trade negotiations with a dilithium-rich planet. “I mean, yeah,” Jim continues (now that he’s started, it’s hard to stop), “I’m obviously not expecting you to fuck me over the science console during Alpha shift, but we do occasionally spent time together off-duty."

“Occasionally, Captain? We spend approximately 83.27% of our off-duty time together,” Spock replies—the tiniest furrow between his eyebrows the only indication that he’d heard the entirety of Jim’s rant.

Jim tries not audibly groan in frustration. “You know what I meant, Spock. In public. Around our friends.” He waves his hands in a vague motion. 

“I do not touch you for the reasons I have just stated, Jim,” Spock says, and Jim can detect just the slightest of tension around his mouth—Jim wants to reach across the table that separates them and smooth it out. “We are neither bonded nor are we betrothed.”

Jim isn’t sure he can just smooth things over this time. He can’t bury this deep inside anymore. And that makes him angry. “So, basically, I have to marry you if I want you to show me you care?” Jim asks, his voice underscored by sardonic laughter. “How is _that_ logical?”

“It is illogical to make a public declaration of a serious relationship where none exists,” Spock snaps back, voice sharp and final. 

The words have the desired effect—Jim shuts up. A sort of iciness enters his blood, and, for the first time since the Kobayashi Maru trial all those years ago, Jim can understand why people might think Spock cold. 

“Fuck you, Spock,” he spits out, voice barely louder than a whisper. He leans back, putting as much physical distance between them as he can, trying to match the emotional distance he hasn’t felt since they first started fucking. “You’ve been in my head; you know I’m in this for good. I’m just so _sick_ of people judging you, picking apart every little piece of our relationship!”

Spock’s posture is always so immaculate, so unalterable, that Jim never notices just how much he relaxes in Jim’s presence until he stiffens. Like he does now.

“Are you tired of people casting their judgment on me, Captain, or on _you_ for choosing a partner like me?” Spock’s voice is quiet too—as careful and steady as his hands when attending to one of his delicate science experiments. “If you are not satisfied with the level of affection I am capable of demonstrating, perhaps you should qualify your previous statement of being ‘in this for good.’”

Spock’s eyes have been fixated on the unfinished chess game between them, but now he looks up. Jim can see the insecurity there. The fear. “I cannot change what I am, Jim," he continues, "And I am afraid that any efforts to that extent will only leave you disappointed.”

“I— _Spock_ ,” Jim feels like shit now. How could he have messed this up so much? He should have known that any mention of discontent would lead to Spock blaming himself—his imperfect Vulcan nature, his imperfect humanity. “I would never want to change you. I just—I wasn’t shown much affection as a kid,” he shoots Spock a wry grin. He’s seen those memories before. “Bones tells me that’s why I’m so needy and insecure when it comes to my personal life. And, I think he might be right. I’m constantly terrified that you don’t care about me as much as I do you. We may not be bonded or married or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I’m not serious about this.”

Spock stays still for a moment longer, but then he reaches across the table and grabs Jim’s hands in both of his, fingers twisting together in a facsimile of a Vulcan kiss. Jim lets out the breath he had been holding and smiles. 

“Jim,” Spock says, looking to their joined hands, “I apologize if I have not made it clear enough, but I am quite serious about this too.”

Jim recognizes the significance of Spock’s admission—he doesn’t apologize lightly, nor does he lie to Jim. It’s telling, and it’s enough to make Jim lean across the space between them— _why was there so much space between them?_ —and tug Spock into a messy kiss. 

And this—Spock’s lips moving against his in familiar movements, combining breaths and tastes—this is all Jim really needs. If it means keeping Spock’s affection to himself, getting to kiss him in their quarters or in empty turbolifts, Jim can get over the rest. Because he _knows_ how much Spock cares. He can feel it in the way Spock opens his mouth to him, the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth when Jim pulls back slightly, the way he surges forward to meet him again in the middle. It’s more than enough. 

\---

A couple of months later, Jim limps into the transporter room with a scowl on his face. He’d been helping Scotty out a few days previously—pointedly ignoring the advice of Spock and Bones—and had ended up falling down a Jefferies tube. He'd fractured four different bones in his right leg, and Bones, paranoid bastard that he was, had yet to clear him for anything other than light duty. It was with decided air of smugness and self-righteousness that Acting Captain Spock made the decision to lead the away team himself. 

With the _Enterprise_ currently in orbit around Iapetus, a planet on the edge of Federation space, Spock and a team of security officers are merely going to beam down to the planet’s surface and inspect the wreckage of a science vessel that had crashed there a few weeks previously. Since they’re only searching for survivors (from the ship it was hard to distinguish Starfleet officers from native lifeforms) and recovering the scientists’ research, the mission is supposed to be quick and simple. Jim knows better. The simplest missions are always the ones where everything goes terribly wrong, and Jim hates missing out on all the fun.

So, it’s with a fair bit of both envy and worry that he enters the transporter room, Bones trailing along with a tricorder in hand. He’s been scanning Jim’s leg every two minutes since they left Sickbay twenty minutes ago. Spock, talking calmly to Scotty by the transporter controls, looks up at their entrance and excuses himself. He moves smoothly to Jim’s side, standing closer than he normally would if Jim weren’t still injured. 

“Was it wise to let the Captain walk here without assistance, Doctor?” Spock asks the question evenly, but he looks to Bones sharply. 

Jim rolls his eyes.

Bones glares right back at Spock, “It would’ve taken a sedative to stop him.” He turns to Jim, and the speculative look he gives him sends a tinge of unease to his gut. Jim glances at Bones' hands to see if there’s a hypo in wait. After a moment, Bones turns back to Spock, “If you don’t want him walking back, I wouldn’t mind too much if you used that Vulcan pinch of yours.”

Spock ignores this suggestion, to Jim’s decided relief, and turns his back to the Doctor. “I believe I can manage to beam down to the surface without your observation, Captain,” he tells Jim, eyebrow raised. “I have accomplished this feat approximately 49 times previously without suffering any adverse effects.”

Jim can’t help but grin. “Did you hear that, Bones? Being in command for three days has somehow made Spock even _more_ bitchy than he normally is.”

Spock’s chest rises and falls in a way that Jim recognizes as a Vulcan version of a sigh. His grin only gets wider in response. 

Spock looks back at Bones, “Doctor, once we have beamed down, please ensure that the Captain rests. It is evident that his mental capabilities are suffering, which I must equate to a lack of adequate sleep.” 

Before Bones can reply to that, Spock turns again to Jim, facing him squarely and grabbing his right wrist with his left hand. Jim’s so distracted and surprised by the fact that Spock’s _touching_ him while on duty, he almost misses what Spock does next:

There, in the crowded transporter room with Bones and Scotty and five random security officers all watching, Spock lifts Jim’s hand with his left and brushes the index and middle fingers of his right slowly, obviously, enticingly against Jim’s.

Jim’s fingers tingle pleasantly at the contact, and he can’t help the flush to his cheeks following the sound that comes out of his mouth—some strange combination of gasp and moan. Spock’s eyes darken at the noise, narrowing to focus on Jim’s open mouth. But, before Jim can jump him right there, he removes his hand, places Jim’s arm back at his side, and takes a step back.

“I will see you in four hours, Jim,” is all he says, walking gracefully to the transporter pad where the security officers—all looking slightly embarrassed and amused at what they had witnessed—assemble around him. Spock keeps his eyes on Jim as they arrange themselves. 

Jim ignores the reactions of Bones and Scotty behind them—it’s not hard when Spock’s gaze is still locked on him. He barely manages to make out the faintest hint of amusement in the corner of Spock's mouth, then, “Energize,” and he’s gone. 

\---

By the time Spock and the away team finally beam back to the _Enterprise_ , eighteen hours have passed and Jim has almost beamed down to the surface six times. Only the glares of warning from Bones and the words of reason from Uhura have prevented him from carrying through with his rash, irrational, illogical plans. This is why he hates being out of commission: the worst part of being a Captain, and a boyfriend, is having to sit idly by while the people he’s responsible for risk their lives.

When Spock’s atoms have finished reassembling on the transporter pad, Jim doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t demand what the hell happened. He doesn’t dismiss the away team or the transport technician. He simply leaps onto the pad—healing leg be damned—and returns Spock’s earlier demonstration of affection with a more human one. He grabs Spock by the face and smashes their lips together in a frenzy of desperation and relief. 

He presses them together as closely as he can, legs, hips, torsos aligned and fixed together just so, and thinks as loudly as he can— _whythefuckaren’twemarriedyet/loveyou/bondwithme/neverleaveme/sofuckingscared/marryme_. 

When Spock doesn’t pull away from the public display of affection that’s probably more public than he’s entirely comfortable with but instead digs his hands into Jim’s hips to fuse them together more tightly, Jim can decipher Spock’s thoughts as clearly as if he were a touch telepath too. It’s just one, simple word.

_Yes._

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never written Star Trek before. I've also never written slash before. Hell, I've never even shipped a M/M pairing before. But, somehow, the stupid love story between these gay idiots crawled deep inside me this summer, made a home there, and now refuses to come out no matter how many novel-length fanfictions I read. I s'pose I thought writing about it would cure me of my obsession, but, alas, here we are. Damn those Space Husbands, am I right?
> 
> Thanks for reading this! I guess, if you are, that means you're as stuck as I am. I hope we all someday can think about something other than gay, hot, alien sex and get on with our lives. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


End file.
